Elanor
by Airel Firdy
Summary: Elanor Gamgee grew up with many wild tales of "Nine-Fingered Frodo and the Ring". As a child she admired the Fellowship and secretly longed for an adventure of her own. Her chance arrives many years later, an adventure: with a dwarf, an elf, and her friends. But something goes terribly wrong, and Elanor suddenly realizes that adventures weren't what she expected after all...
1. I: The Red Book

**Hello, everyone!  
**

**As some of you might know, I published a bunch of Lord of the Rings fanfictions on my other account, Lennith Brightfeather, which is now being taken down. I am trying to re-upload every story (with the exception of _The Light of Dawn_, which needs editing) and this is the first one (yay!) Thank you everyone who first reviewed 'Elanor'. You gave me lots of encouragement and the stamina to continue it.**

**Well anyways, here's the first chapter. Tell me if I make any mistakes!**

_I. The Red Book_

Many hobbits said it started after the Red Book. (After all, Sam shouldn't have read it to his daughter at the age of seven, it was common sense not to.) Several, including the old gaffer, claimed it started after the departure of Frodo Baggins. (Samwise never really was the same and that made Elanor curious.) But Sam knew it began at the beginning, on the day of his eldest daughter's birth.

One afternoon in spring, about a week before the special day, Frodo Baggins found Sam in his garden, sitting under a tree, thoughtfully staring into the sky. Now, this had been a rare sight, for Samwise Gamgee was usually with his wife, helping her sweep (while humming a suspiciously _Elvish _tune deep in his throat). Frodo sat beside him under the shade of the tree and saw that his friend's eyes were troubled. Sam was in deep thought and concern, and Frodo knew not why.

'Sam,' said Frodo. 'What are you worried for?' It was a while until he answered.

'Rosie's set on having a little boy,' he said slowly. 'We're to call him Frodo-lad, that's settled, and our lad will come next week, for certain. But I don't know, Mr. Frodo, what does a father do?'

Frodo was surprised, and laughed. 'Don't worry! In a week's time it shall be sun, and no clouds. When the time comes I suppose you shall know what a father does. Why– when Bilbo took me in he didn't know a thing about little hobbits. But it all comes in time, Sam, don't worry.'

'Really,' said Sam quietly. 'It all comes in time…'

'Yes," said Frodo. 'And I think you shall be an excellent father to Frodo-lad.'

He left the garden, smiling. Afternoon sun shone upon the Shire. But if Sam had looked he would have seen a cold shadow cross Frodo's face and his master turn white as chalk.

Frodo fell ill, and Sam did not hear of it until evening when Merry rode past Bag End. Pippin was away at an errand, and Merry had come supposedly to visit (but of course he remembered the previous year in which Frodo was also ill).

'Master Samwise!' he called over the gate, and eagerly Sam welcomed him. They laughed and embraced, as hobbits do, and Sam marveled at his friend.

'I say, Master Meriadoc,' said he in suspicion. 'You _have _been growing, have you?'

'Nonsense,' Merry laughed. 'The ent-draught still has not worn out, but alas! I am still a smidgeon taller than our Pippin. Now–' he smiled, patting his pony, 'How does Frodo fare? Today is, after all, the anniversary of the poison-wound.'

'Mr. Frodo!' cried Sam in alarm. 'I say; I sat thinking for such a time I forgot the poison-wound!'

In haste Merry tied the reigns of his pony to the gate and both hobbits hurried into Bag End.

They opened the door (in his hurry Sam turned it the wrong way several times) and stepped into the house. Rosie was sitting in a chair darning several shirts.

She greeted them with her smile, but it was weary and tired and her hands shook even as she darned. 'Where lies Master Frodo?' said Merry.

'He came inside moments ago,' she said. 'With him I sent a pot of redcurrant preserves and poppy-seed loaf. I daresay he's ill again; his skin is paler than the last occurrence.' She looked at Sam. 'Well, I' been wondering where you went, Sam. Mr. Frodo needs you.'

Anxiously Merry and Sam went to Frodo's room.

He was, indeed, ill. Frodo's eyes were wide and unseeing, his hand holding the place where the Witch-king had stabbed him, and his face deathly pale.

'Mr. Frodo!' cried Sam. Merry quickly put his hand on Frodo's forehead.

'It's cold,' he said gravely. 'Where is his blanket?' Fumbling, Sam wrapped a blanket around his master. Together they helped him into his bed. The sunlight was fading and the room grew suddenly darker.

Frodo moaned in his sleep, and Merry went to find a hot water-bottle for him. Sam choked and felt his hand. It was still alarmingly cold, and it trembled like an autumn leaf.

Merry came and lit the fire. It roared and licked the wood, and that brought some comfort. Rosie had made them dinner, supper, and dessert, but both hobbits only finished the dinner.

'I wish Aragorn was here,' said Merry glumly. 'And perhaps his kingsfoil; he worked wonders with it.'

The evening turned into night and soon Merry left. 'Pip is waiting,' he said. 'I shall bring him tomorrow and see how Frodo is. Meanwhile have some sleep, Sam, if you can.' But Sam could not, though the moon shone bright and fair, and far away the wind sang. Rosie dared not sleep, for she was concerned for Frodo, and instead sat by the fire with another pile of clothes (mainly Elanor's).

Sam stayed at Frodo's side. Every so often he would touch his master's forehead and mutter something. Surely the was gone by now! The night wore on and Frodo became no better, and very soon Sam fell asleep.

The next morning, Merry and Pippin arrived. As soon as the sun rose, Sam awoke hearing a thump at the door. Rosie, who was already awake, was making bread rolls and butter. Sam opened the door and there was Merry and Pippin, both exhausted from the hard ride.

'I say, Master Sam,' said Pippin. 'You have grown quite short, or I am taller. But no time: may we see Frodo Baggins, please?'

'Yes, quite,' said Sam, who had not slept for very long.

'How is he?' said Merry. 'He should be better, I think.'

'No,' Sam said grimly. 'Most unfortunately he's worse. Shelob's poison is not forgettable, I reckon. Mr. Frodo's pale as anything and even the hot water-bottle doesn't warm him.'

They entered Frodo's room.

Frodo was paler than the night before, and breathing in short, shallow gasps. His skin was cold like frost and Pippin grew fearful. Sam was still gathering his wits when Merry spoke. 'I brought kingsfoil,' he said. 'Or athelas, as Aragorn would say. Pippin and I found a few flowering plants nearby. Will it help?'

Sam sighed in relief. 'I think it will,' he said. 'It's a good thing we have steaming water. Now– Master Pippin, do you remember how Strider used to prepare kingsfoil?'

'Aye,' said Pippin, whose spirits were lifting. 'Breathe on it quick and crush the leaves. Then cast the kingsfoil into a bowl of steaming water. (I hope I have not missed anything!) Anyhow I think that is what Aragorn did.'

With shaking hands Sam crushed the leaves. Merry helped him pour hot water into a bowl and he cast them in, all the while hoping that his master would awaken.

The scent of athelas arose from the bowl and filled the room. It was refreshing, light, and healing all at once and the soft smell calmed Merry and Sam. Frodo's face was still pale but some of its colour had returned, and his breathing regained its rhythm. Pippin sighed, and Rosie told Sam that their meal was ready.

There were warm buttered rolls and several rounds of cheese, along with milk and yesterday's redcurrant preserves. Hungrily they ate, as Rosie opened the window and let in the air. Both Merry and Pippin thanked Rosie for the meal and they went to Frodo. He was no longer pale, but his normal colour, his eyes were closed and he was dreaming.

'I hope he wakes soon,' said Pippin. 'I'd like to see how tall I am.'

'Pip!' said Merry. 'You shouldn't. Stretching almost four feet, I daresay, though Frodo would hardly be interested. After all, it was you who began to drink that ent-draught.'

'I suppose so,' said Pippin slowly, 'but nevertheless– say! I think Frodo shall enjoy his meal. Rosie is a wonderful cook, Sam, tell her that. And Merry, I'm sure he will be interested in my height.'

'I _am_ interested in your height,' came a weak voice. 'It's just very difficult to see over your towering head, Pip. Lean down, could you?'

'Frodo!' cried Merry, and he smiled. 'Awake at last, and not too soon.'

'Yes,' said Frodo. 'I think I shall be better off after breakfast. Was Frodo-lad born before I woke?'

'No,' said Sam. 'It is but a day since you fell ill.'

'Well, Sam,' Frodo laughed. He stood and walked cautiously out of his room. 'I haven't said this for a while, not since the day before Merry's birthday party, but I'm hungry!'

Frodo was better, of course, and regained his strength in a few hours. Merry and Pippin returned to their homes in relief, after having afternoon tea with Sam and Rosie. Their laughter echoed around the bend leaving delightful traces. Rosie decided to visit her family while Frodo went to write once again in his Red Book. And the day ended happy.

The illness did not return that week, and soon it was the expected day. Rosie's mother came with her great-aunt, as did Farmer Cotton and the old gaffer. Rosie said she was feeling tired, and sat down, and Sam went to find water for her.

When he came back, Rosie was struggling to breathe. Sam shouted for Farmer Cotton's wife and she came running. 'Best stay out,' she murmured to her husband, and shut the door.

Sam could not stay still and instead walked back and forth. The gaffer was not very concerned, however, and neither was Farmer Cotton. 'It will pass, Samwise,' they both said. 'Children are difficult at this time.' And they were right, of course. Four hours later, the door opened again, and Rosie's mother smiled.

'Samwise Gamgee,' she said. 'Be happy, for Rosie is well and you have a daughter.'

The gaffer leaned his ear-trumpet in her direction while Farmer Cotton looked at Sam, pleased.

'A daughter!' said Sam. 'But what about Frodo-lad?'

'Eh, male hobbits,' his mother-in-law returned. 'Come and see for yourself. A bonny girl, that's what, and fair as an elf-child! Though,' she added, 'she screams mighty loud.'

Samwise cautiously stepped into his room, where Rosie lay sweating but smiling. She held in her arms a little child, no bigger than his arm. Rosie put his daughter ('My daughter!' thought Sam) on his lap.

Sam held the little girl in his arms. She was fragile, he could see, and very bright. Her eyes, both shining and grave, were not unlike his own. Her hair fell in curling ringlets, pale and fair and white-golden, and she seemed to stare straight into his soul.

Sam found himself saying, 'I think I wouldn't mind a daughter, Rosie.'

He was surprised at himself, but he knew it was true. Already he loved this little hobbit, and he remembered Frodo's words: _it all comes in time._

Sam knew now. It did come in time. Fathers were for loving and protecting, and teaching and caring. That was what a father did. And he was sure– he would do his best to be a good father to this little hobbit.

He admitted to Frodo that the child was a girl. Frodo was not disappointed; actually, he was pleased. He helped Sam name his daughter, and she became known as Elanor.

Months passed like a blink of an eye, and soon it was nearly but not quite autumn. Sam once again sat under the tree in thought, and this time it was Rosie who found him.

'Sam?' she said.

'Rosie, Frodo wants me to come with him. He's going to Rivendell, see, because Bilbo's almost a hundred thirty-one and there will be some sort of celebration. At least, that's what I reckon. I also want to see Bilbo again, but I need to stay with Elanor.'

'Well, I think you should go,' said Rosie. 'My ma and my da will stay with Elanor and I, and of course Bag End is big enough for all of us. Bilbo shall be older than Old Took, I suppose, and that is an exciting thing.'

'All right, then,' said Sam. 'I shall go. But I will return in a fortnight!'

Rosie watched as Sam and Frodo rode away. The morning was fading into noon, and there were things to do. Elanor, who sat on her lap, sang happily of things to come. And of course, Farmer Cotton was coming around the bend of the road.

Two weeks came and went by, and Rosie heard the familiar sound of clip-clopping hooves. The meal she had prepared was set on the table, and the lamp was lit. She opened the door for Sam, and laid Elanor, who was almost asleep, in his lap.

'Well, I'm back,' he said.

'Sam, you look… sad. Where is Master Frodo?'

As soon as she said those words, Sam seemed to crumple. Rosie held him in an embrace and understood: Frodo had left on an inevitable journey and would not come back.

'He's sailed to the west,' said Sam heavily. 'His wounds bother him, he says, and there he will find healing at last. Mr. Frodo's left everything to us, even Bag End. I suppose one day I shall see him again, but that day is far, I'm afraid.'

'He will be happy there,' said Rosie, 'and you will be happy here, too. I know that one day you shall sail west too, and see him again. Now, Sam, Elanor must rest. Here is your dinner.'

Sam ate quietly and stared at the fire. Elanor slept soundly in her bed. When he finished, he took a quick bath and went straight to bed. Rosie wiped the windows and as she did, she smiled. The night came quickly, and Sam would recover. For tomorrow lay ahead and today was swiftly falling behind.

To be continued.


	2. II: Nine-Fingered Frodo and the Ring

_II. Nine-Fingered Frodo and the Ring_

Morning came. Sam didn't know what happened, but suddenly seven years passed. So quickly, like a snapping twig. His daughter had grown– she was taller, fairer than most, and, like him, spent many hours gazing gravely at things.

Elanor was feared by half the Shire and loved by the other. Her friends said she had a big heart for children, and was unnaturally wise for her age. Her way of thinking and quiet nature was definitely inherited from her father. She even had the same love for gardening.

The other half of the Shire was haunted by the hobbit-lass with staring eyes. She 'snuck' around in her plodding way, and almost always had dirty hands. Several hobbits found her thick-headed and dreamy, and said she was 'just like her father'.

Elanor, however, was either ignorant or oblivious to them. She found great delight in flowers and trees, as well as poetry and stars. As for her quiet nature– well, at home, it was quite different.

One day, as she sat under a tree, she was struck by a sudden memory: of her father speaking of a Sea and the west and a Ring. Elanor knew vaguely that Sam had a very close friend by the name of Frodo Baggins, who had gone away. She frowned. 'Why would any hobbit leave the Shire?' she thought. 'The Shire is home, I think, and home means safety. What is the Sea?'

Knowing that her father would have answers, Elanor ran into Bag End.

Samwise was in his study (previously Frodo's and before him Bilbo's) reading a book. Elanor tugged at his sleeve and he closed it, smiling.

'Good morning, Elanor,' he said.

'Father-father!' she said eagerly. 'I remembered something. Who is Frodo Bagginses?'

'Baggins,' Sam corrected gently. 'His name was Frodo Baggins, Elanor, and he lived here before us.'

'Old!' gasped Elanor. 'Was he?'

'No, he was my friend and like Uncle Merry. Do you remember Uncle Merry? And Uncle Pippin?'

'Yes. Not old, then.'

'Of course not! Well, Frodo had an uncle called Bilbo, who was my teacher, and Bilbo fought a dragon.'

'Can you tell me the story?'

Samwise smiled. 'I suppose it wouldn't hurt. Here– sit down, Elanor. I will read to you from this book. This is the Red Book. Look– Bilbo wrote all his adventures in here and Frodo did too.'

'What's an adventure?' said Elanor, her eyes glinting seriously.

'An adventure is when you go out without looking for anything and you find things you didn't expect. Adventures are when you have danger and friends and bravery. I daresay– haven't I told you what an adventure is, and who Bilbo and Frodo Baggins were, Elanor?'

'No-o, but you can now!' she chirped.

Samwise smiled fondly at his daughter. Over the hill he could hear Rosie exclaiming and running after his son Frodo-lad, his daughter Rosie-lass, and his youngest son Merry-lad, all named for his friends.

He opened the window and read to Elanor, from the very beginning. Sam watched her closely as he read the dwarves' arrival, and about an Adventure. Her rigid posture and wide-open eyes told him that she was listening very carefully, and that made Sam happy.

He finally stopped at a scene in which Bilbo was to enter Smaug's lair.

'I think we shall continue tomorrow,' he said.

'Da-a! Can we finish all of it today?'

'No, that we can't. See, we only finished a tiny bit of the Red Book! There's a lot more, about Hobbits and Dwarves and Wizards and Elves. Uncle Merry and Uncle Pippin and I are in here, too. And see– there's a part where your name is!'

Elanor gasped and flailed her arms. Samwise laughed.

'But that will be tomorrow,' he said firmly. 'Now's tea-time and Uncles Merry and Pippin are visiting tomorrow! You shall help your mother clean the house.'

Elanor frowned, but stood.

'But we will continue tomorrow, right?' she said.

'I promise,' said Sam, and she smiled.

Merry and Pippin came the next day, on their ponies, bearing a present for Elanor, her seventh birthday being days before. It was a brooch, green and glazed, like a leaf. It had golden veins and shimmered like dew.

'What's this?' Elanor said.

'This is a brooch,' said her Uncle Pippin. 'This used to be mine, but now it's yours. Your da will tell you about it, and I think you'll like it very much. It was made–' he lowered his voice –'by Elves.'

Elanor gasped and immediately demanded to pin it on her. Laughing, Sam and Merry gave her a grey cloak that Rosie had made, quite similar to her father's. It was not of Elven-make, and was only an imitation, but Elanor was very delighted with it.

'Ha!' said Merry. 'You look like your father.'

Sam smiled and continued reading the Red Book to her. Elanor's Uncles also made funny voices for the dwarves and the orcs, and Merry had a splendid raspy dragon voice to rival Smaug's own. Rosie peeked into the study, seeing the three hobbits and one hobbit-lass probing over a book, and smiled.

The next week, Elanor had nearly memorized the Red Book.

'… 'I'm back,' he said,' finished Sam. 'All right. That has been the fifth time we have read 'Mr. Frodo's going to the Sea', Elanor. And here we are, sitting under the tree, and you're crying like a hobbit-child.'

'I ca-a-an't he-e-elp it!' Elanor wailed. 'It's too sa-a-ad.'

Sam sighed as she burst into another round of tears.

'Listen, Elanor Gamgee,' he said, and Elanor stopped crying. 'Mr. Frodo's doing quite well in the west. See here: the Sea is the only place he'll be happy. He got poisoned and hurt, remember? Nobody can help him but if he goes to the Sea he will get better. Now don't cry, that's a good girl. Today we are planting seeds, and they won't grow if Elanor cries.'

She wiped away her tears. 'Yes, Da,' she said.

As she planted three pumpkin seeds she looked very seriously at her father.

'Da, when I grow up, I want to go on an adventure,' she said. 'And find friends like Legolas and Gimli and Aragorn and Gandalf.'

Sam was startled, for a moment, but then began to laugh. 'An adventure?' he said. 'Well, I'd rather not. I'd like my Elanor to stay at home with me and perhaps stay safe. An adventure!'

Still chuckling, he patted the dirt over the seeds, and the conversation ended.

Time passed and Elanor became withdrawn and silent. She spent many a day staring out the window from Bag End, and helped her mother in taking care of her siblings. Sam often wondered about the change in her, but when asked she would merely shake her head and turn away.

For her seventeenth birthday, she was given a book, burgundy-bound and quite similar to the Red Book. It had golden and silver etchings of elanor flowers on the cover and many hundred leaves of pages. It was then that Sam saw her smile, one thing she had not done in a very long time.

Then for two days she did not appear from her room, locking it with her key. Sam was worried, but Rosie assured him that Elanor would be fine; hobbit-lasses were unpredictable anyhow.

If Sam had peeked through the window he would have seen his daughter with pen and ink writing madly, at the same time reading passages from the Red Book. If he had looked in his study he would have noticed many pots of ink missing as well as the Red Book and his second-favourite ink-pen. For Elanor was writing tales of her own, long and elaborate and with scribbled drawings in the margins. In her small, curled script she wrote of many adventures, long before the Fellowship was formed.

Elanor wrote of Elves, Dwarves, Hobbits, and Men. She spent long hours in the night recalling her father's descriptions of Legolas Greenleaf and Gandalf, the next day drawing them and writing their history. Sam's daughter did not appear (except at mealtimes, when Rosie began to put her dinner at the foot of her door) until four days had passed.

She never stayed in her room for more than two days from then on. Still mildly quiet, she helped Rosie with household matters and such, and took careful watch over her siblings. From the outer appearance she was well-mannered, helpful, quiet, and obedient. But when she was alone in her room, Elanor shed her mild skin and became her true self: the one that longed for adventure, the one who spoke her thoughts, the one who was brave and strong.

Her family never saw her real self. Rosie and the more cantankerous half of the Shire did not object to the mellow Elanor. Secretly, Sam wished for the wide-eyed, curious little hobbit-lass she once was, but knew that now Elanor had grown and would put her childhood dreams behind in search of a simple hobbit life.

Years passed. Elanor's friends began to find her rather dull and 'simple-minded' and went to chat with other lively hobbits. She took to gardening, quietness, and empty rooms and never did her family hear her say the word 'Red Book'. The only light Elanor had was her brooch, her Book, and the tiniest hope of an adventure.

Wishes are like dreams, however, and when sparked, they never really go out. Though Elanor was not aware of it, several years later, she would have the adventure of her life…

Elanor stood at the very frame of the door, her hobbit-ears listening intently.

'My da's sent me with a message.' It was the innkeeper's son, the son of Butterbur of The Prancing Pony. He had ridden all the way to Bag End and was urgently speaking to Sam.

'Strangers, sir, my da says, cloaked strangers. One tall and one not-so, asking for _Baggins._'

Elanor could hear a slight intake of breath from her father.

'Baggins. Did anyone say–?'

'Nay, sir, my da shut them out and tells the guests, 'Tell the strangers nothing or I'll boot you without supper.' 'Course, no one says nothing and the strangers went. Oh, Mr. Samwise, my da's afeard of th' strangers. Last time, he says, was bad, and strangers tried to _kill _a Baggins! Master Frodo! Mustn't show your face, sir, around here. My da's gone around sayin' 'Don't tell anyone where Samwise Gamgee lives or you'll pay, and I say pay hard!' So it should be safe for now.'

Wide-eyed, Elanor remembered: the Nazgûl had once come to The Prancing Pony, and had almost killed her father, Frodo, Merry, and Pippin. If it were not for Aragorn they would have died a very painful death. Could the Nazgûl be roaming about again?

'Oh, I know the cursed strangers died after your adventure,' the innkeeper's son was saying, 'but just to be sure, sir, don't let anyone into the house– or out of it, for that matter. Strangers never come with good tidings.'

Samwise gave Butterbur's son some food and drink and thanked him for the message. Then he slumped into a chair by the fire and stared at the doorway.

'Elanor, I can see you.'

Embarrassed, she walked into the room and sat on the ground next to him.

'And no doubt, you were listening, weren't you?'

Sam did not wait for an answer and instead lit his pipe. A hissing line of smoke curled above his head and he blew a lopsided smoke ring. Elanor fiddled with her hands.

'Da– why are the Nazgûl still alive?'

Sam looked at her gravely. 'I don't know, Elanor, I just don't know. It could be anyone, but only the Black Riders called Mr. Frodo 'Baggins'. It isn't proper, and no one else called him that.'

'What are we going to do?'

'I– I don't know.'

Rosie was heard hollering at Frodo-lad across the hallway.

'No, there ain't! There is no Dwarf in the wardrobe and there never will be! Get to sleep, hobbit-lad.'

She sighed and came into the room with warm milk in a jug. As Elanor drank it (nearly scalding her tongue) her mother sat beside Sam. Without words she comforted him and he looked in her eyes.

'What happens now, Rosie?'

Rosie smiled. 'We lock the door, of course. I heard some of the conversation, and it seems to me like we have unwanted company in the Shire. The lads and lasses will be safe here, and our Elanor will read to them from the Red Book. I think they're ready, eh?'

'Twelve hobbit-children might not be a suitable audience,' sighed Sam. 'Elanor might not want to read to them. Four brothers and sisters are nice, yes, but twelve are quite a bother at times.'

'I daresay,' said Elanor suddenly. 'Why don't we see who the strangers are?'

'Elanor!' Rosie's eyes widened in alarm, and Sam blinked.

'Your father and your family is in danger,' said Rosie in a softer voice. 'If we do meet them, it ain't proper to say how-dee-do and become the Deceased Gamgee Family, ain't it? We truly must stay indoors. Curiosity will not help us here.'

'Yes, ma,' Elanor said.

'Well, then,' said Sam. 'Rosie, you've just made dark window-covers, have you? Rough cloth ones? I suspect those will do for the windows. And we shall have to dim the lights, and find our keys… Why! Where's Elanor gone?'

Rosie looked around, but her daughter had disappeared.

'To her room, perhaps,' she said, and smiled. 'A good hobbit-lass, she is.'

'A lass no further,' muttered Sam. 'Twenty-three and as childlike as a tree. Not a lass at all.'

Upon that note, Rosie gathered her window-covers and began to change the curtains. Sam locked the front door, the back door, and the pantry door (just to be safe). His napping hobbit-children made snuffly sounds from their room and he went in quietly to put on the new window-covers. And lastly he found large, empty jars and painted the insides with grey. It would dim the candles but still provide light.

Elanor was in her room, thinking. She was sure that the Nazgûl were all dead as doornails; after the Ring was destroyed, the forces of the Dark Lord had weakened, hadn't they? She swung her legs to the side of her bed and went to a little wooden desk.

She took a key from her pocket, a small brass key, and unlocked a drawer. In it lay her Book. She unlocked another drawer with the same key and it revealed her father's ink-pen and a half-empty pot of ink.

To be continued...


End file.
